Till The End Of The Line
by Tanny-chan
Summary: Found injured, suffering from amnesia, The Winter Soldier seeks to discover his true identity. In the process, he must reason out why a proclaimed old friend allies with him as several shadowy groups, and professional assassins want him dead. #Stucky


Till The End of the Line

Chapter 1: Lost.

Darkness. There is the sound of wind and spray. The Ocean, nighttime, The darkness is the water. A Searchlight arcs across heavy ocean swells, half a dozen flashlights weaker beams race along what can be see as the deck of an aging Fishing Trawler. Such light spot a bulge floating along the ocean. Fishermen struggle with a gaff to pull it out.

A human corpse.

The corpse is pulled onto the fishing boat deck, sprawled upon it. The Sailors all talk at once, three languages going on, brave chatter among all, to mask the presence of death...

"Jesus, look at him..."

"What? you never saw a dead man before?"

"Look, look he was shot..." another sailor nudges the body.

"Don't, don't do that..."

"He's dead, you think he cares?"

"... so have some respect, it's a –"

He pauses as the body moves, convulsing, coughing up sea water.

The Sailors all freak out jumping back standing there, as the man begins to breathe.

They are now in the fishing boat bunk room. A wreck, too small for all the people in there right now, sailors sweep off the table as many rough hands lay the man down. The Captain, brutal and impatient watches from the door as an older sailor, Giancarlo, tears through the clutter, searching for a medical kit buried in the shambles.

"It's here, hang on it's here somewhere...give me a minute, get some blankets, get some blankets on him..." finding the kit, he orders. "Here we go, here it is..."Giancarlo with an old trunk is just getting it open, as the Captain suddenly speaks.

"Giancarlo."

Giancarlo turns back. "We pick him up? Okay, we have to pick him up. But that's as far as it goes."

"He needs a doctor."

"Fuck that. He lives? He dies? I don't care. We've wasted two hours on this shit already. You do what you can, but we're not going back." The captain's voice full of steel now. "You understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let's get back to work!" He addresses the others.

Giancarlo watches them run out. Snagging a quick pull on a pint of rum he's got stashed, he continues to work.

At dawn the bunk room has been transformed into a makeshift operating room. A light swings overhead the man laid out across the table. Sounds, groans, words...snatches of them...all in different languages, were mumbled by the now semi unconscious man.

Giancarlo now in doctor mode in a greasy kitchen apron cuts away clothes, turning the man on his side. Two bullet wounds in the back are noticed. Probing them, judging them with a flashlight in his teeth, he successfully takes them out, the bullet fragments fall into a washed-out olive jar. Something catches Giancarlo's eye...a scar on the man's hip. He uses a knife and some tweezers extracting a small plastic tube, not a bullet at all, and as it comes free the man's hand slams down onto Giancarlo's own.

Startled for a moment, Giancarlo blinks rapidly, and then asks calmly, quietly. "You're awake. Can you hear me?"

The man blinks slowly.

"You've been shot. I'm trying to help you."

The man now, tries to find his voice.

"You were in the water. You've been shot. It's okay now."

"Where am I?" the man manages to mumble.

The sailor, who had been speaking in his native tongue, then switches to English. "You're American. I thought so. From your teeth, the dental work –"

"Where am I?" the man tries once more.

"You're on a boat. A fishing boat. Italian flag. We're out of Vietri." the sailor smiles. "It's the cold that saved you. The water. The wounds are clean. I'm not a doctor, but the wounds, it looks okay. It's clean."

"How did I get here?"

"You we're lost at sea. They pulled you out."

The injured man, ponders for a moment.

"Who are you?"

He says nothing.

"You were shot...two bullets in the back. You understand me?"

He tries to nod.

"Who are you?"

Long dead pause.

"I don't know..."

The next day comes quick, the Trawler plows through heavy seas. From the bunk room, Giancarlo is hunched over a desk, tweezers and a flashlight in hand, busy working at that strange plastic tube that came out of the man's hip.

The man is bandaged. He's sitting up, aching all over and hurting like hell, but physical pain is not the thing troubling him right now. He's stares around the room, at his body, at the walls...haunted.

"What if it doesn't come back?" he mumbles.

Still working that tube, the sailor replies. "I told you. You need to rest."

Silence. The man can't rest, he is restless. Too busy trying to make sense of all this.

"I can read. I can read that sign on the door. I can count. I can talk..." is focusing now on everything before him. "What are you doing?"

Giancarlo rummages around to find a magnifying glass.

"What is that?"

Up close...clear now...The sailor squints his eyes to read the visible numbers. "000-7-17-12-0-14-26. GEMEINSCHAFT BANK, ZURICH. It came from your hip, under the skin." He turns back. "You have a bank in Zurich. You remember Zurich?"

"No..."

Day and nights go back lucky and grateful that at least the crew offered to shelter him for the time being. Yet this day went on with confusion and frustration. He tried to occupy himself by helping, busy him self with any activity. Even the pain of his still sore recovering body, he uses it as an advantage, doing chin-ups on the deck rail, bandaged, the wounds must hurt like hell, but he's pushing himself. Using the pain, bathing in it, and maybe even hoping that it will hold some answer for him.

More days, Sailors attend to their duties hauling in the nets. The man still bandaged, but healing - works beside them, earning his keep, getting healthy.

On one of the ugliest bathrooms on the planet, the man, stands before a pitted, tarnished, cataract of a mirror, staring at himself, his tired features, his long messy hair...and then he speaks, in perfect French.

"I don't know who I am. Do you know who I am? Do have any idea who I am?"

And then he stops, blinks, wipes away the perspiration just beading on his forehead.

"Tell me who I am. If you know who I am, please stop fucking around and tell me." He speaks in perfect Dutch now.

No answer. Just that face. His face.

_Who am I? _

Onto the Italian Coastline, The trawler motors in. A small, colorful fishing village comes into view. The man with borrowed clothes and some money Giancarlo has given him, heads onto the busy streets. Some hours later, the man successfully buys a train ticket.

A bullet train speeds through snow capped Alps. On a window and staring out is the man. To his surroundings, people, all around him, families, businessmen, normal people going about their lives. The man turns back to the window, but he's not watching the scenery, he's looking at his reflection. So lost in thought, confusion. Why could he just not remember a single thing...? His face suddenly plunges into darkness as the train bombs into a tunnel...

Late night, now on the Zurich train station, the man wanders through the terminal and passes a pizza place closing up for the night. He checks his funds...just enough for one cold slice...

Onto the streets, the man walks aimlessly, eventually reaching a park to rest. Checking his surroundings, he tries to get comfortable on a bench. It's chilly but this will have to do until morning. He is just settling in when a Zurich cop comes up to him, speaking in German.

"Can't you read the signs?"

The man turns as the two Zurich cops come toward him.

"On your feet. Let's go. Right now."

The man makes his feet; they're on top of him now. "The park is closed. There's no sleeping in the park." They try to hold the struggling man beneath them. "Let's see some identification."

The man not sure what to do, blinks, eyes moving, mouth shut.

"Come on. Your papers. Let's go."

"I've lost them...I've..." the man in German now, replies "My papers. They are lost."

Not sympathetic, the cop continues to attempt and hold him. "Okay. Let's go. Put your hands up." The other cop mimics his partner. "Come on, hands up...up..."

The man raises his hands slowly. The Zurich Cop reaches up to pat him down... "Look, I'm just trying to sleep okay? I just need to sleep."

The second Zurich cop has heard enough. Giving a sharp poke with the nightstick, into the man's back triggers the last thing he'll remember because said man is in motion.

A single turn and spinning rapidly, he catches the second cop completely off guard, the heel of his hand drives up into the guy's throat and the other cop behind him tries to reach for his pistol, but the man, still turning all his weight moves in a single fluid attack, a sweeping kick and the first cop is falling, catching the bench, trying to fight back but the man like a machine...just unbelievably fast...

Three jackhammer punches and the cop's head is slammed into the bench, blood sprays from his nose, he's out cold now. The other writhes on the ground, gasping for air, struggling with his holster. The man's foot slams down like a vise grip onto the cop's arm, shattering the bone. The cop starts to scream, but is quickly silenced because the man's got the pistol now, so fucking fast, the weapon right up against cop's forehead. Breathing rapidly, the confused man is right on the edge of pulling the trigger...he's going shoot him when...

The injured cop gasps, pleads. "No please God no...please don't...please no...my Go—" the pleads are stopped as the man slams the gun against his temple and The fight is over.

The man stands there...breathing rapidly...but not out of tiredness but confusion. He stares at the two unconscious cops at his feet, blood on his pants...What just happened?

How did he do this? Did he actually take these men out, with his bare hands? Such skills he possessed? He knew that he shouldn't have attacked these men, but...it was either defend himself...or be taken in and questioned. And there's the gun in his hand...and God...it just feels so natural...checking it, stripping it down, holding it, aiming it like this is something he's done a million times before...

This is something he definitely knows how to do. And then he stops cold, throwing down the gun...

Confused, and actually in fear...he runs off into the darkness...

Notes: If you have not noticed by now, this series will be following the Bourne franchise movies. Am a big fan, thought that such storylines could be possible for a Steven/Bucky fiction. We'll see how the story progresses and if it is liked. Do let me know what you lovely readers think. Thank you.


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